


With Compliments

by manic_intent



Series: Compliments to the Chef [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chef AU, M/M, Ridiculous fic inc, That Chef AU where Bilbo is a chef, and Thorin is the irascible food critic, i don't even know where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would you stop staring,” Bilbo hissed, for the fifth time since service had started. “He’s not about to grow <i>horns</i>.” </p><p>Bofur looked guiltily away from the door, and scuttled back over to the tail end of appetiser prep. “Just checkin’ if he liked the amuse-bouche.” </p><p>“Well,” Bilbo scowled, “We have an entire restaurant to feed, not just Mister Durin, and Lobelia’s in a fine mood tonight, so if <i>I</i> don’t keep you at prep, <i>she’ll</i> light your tail with the blowtorch, I don’t wonder.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Compliments

**Author's Note:**

> Loved the movie Chef. Watch it if you haven’t (and love food!)

I.

“Would you stop staring,” Bilbo hissed, for the fifth time since service had started. “He’s not about to grow _horns_.”

Bofur looked guiltily away from the door, and scuttled back over to the tail end of appetiser prep. “Just checkin’ if he liked the amuse-bouche.” 

“Well,” Bilbo scowled, “We have an entire restaurant to feed, not just Mister Durin, and Lobelia’s in a fine mood tonight, so if _I_ don’t keep you at prep, _she’ll_ light your tail with the blowtorch, I don’t wonder.” 

“She’s out plying Mister Durin with her best wine. Hopefully that’ll help.” Bofur ducked hastily behind Bombur when Bilbo levelled another glare at him. “Not that the food needs any help!”

Bilbo transferred his glare to the kitchen, which instantly picked up into a flurry of activity: final touches on the sauces for the appetisers, a start on the searing for the mains - then he blew out a long, loud sigh. “Oh, blast it all. If I could’ve cooked what I wanted-“

“Still good,” Bombur said blandly, as he put together crisps and almond wafers in precise little towers over the winter salad, quick and deft despite his stubby fingers. “Stop worrying, chef.”

“This menu is _old_ ,” Bilbo complained, even as he circled around the benchtop to oversee the mains. “It was my signature run _half a decade_ ago!” 

“And it’s what Lobelia wants cooked tonight,” Bombur reminded him, and Bilbo pinched at the bridge of his nose. 

“If only I could make some slight variations-“

Lobelia swept into the kitchen at that point, the broad, warm smile she was wearing settling back into her usual thinned line. “Everything under control?”

“Everything’s under control,” Bilbo said, recognising the warning signs and swallowing the rest of his thought. “How’s the special guest?”

“Quiet. No news is good news,” Lobelia said, sweeping the kitchen with another narrow-eyed stare. “I’m going to do the rounds. Keep up the good work. And remember, Bilbo,” she added sharply, when Bilbo started to turn, “ _No variations_. Silver Spoon’s done great with the menu it’s always had.”

“I hear you, Lobelia,” Bilbo said unenthusiastically, and the rest of service went swimmingly, with everything out on time, no injuries, no complaints. It was drudgery, not cooking, for all that his staff kept sneaking peeks out of the kitchen doors to their special guest. Bilbo refused to look. A customer was just a customer, after all: however ‘influential’ his opinion was in social media or whatever it was. 

Service seemed interminable, though, and when it was finally over, and the last customer was out the door, Bilbo slumped against the counter top and ran a hand over his face. “I’m going,” he told Bofur shortly, and Bofur glanced at the door to the restaurant, then to Bombur and the rest of their staff, then back. “Let Lobelia know that I’m tired. If she even asks.”

“Uh. Sure. Take it easy, boss,” Bofur said uncertainly, though he tried to smile. “Look, I’m sure we did great. I’m sure-“

“Ahh,” Bombur said quietly, his phone in his hand, thumbing at something on the screen, and with his usual cheerful disregard of privacy, Bofur peered over his cousin’s shoulder.

“Oh… balls.”

“What?” Bilbo blinked at them both, as the rest of the kitchen staff huddled over to look. “What happened?”

“Uh, nothing, uh, why don’t you head on home,” Bofur said ingratiatingly. “Since you’re tired and all, eh?”

“Nothing to see,” Bombur agreed.

“Mister Durin’s an ass anyway,” Hamfast agreed, then blinked worriedly when Bofur nudged him sharply in the ribs. “What?”

“Let me see that,” Bilbo said firmly, holding out his hand. Bombur actually held his phone closer to his expansive bulk, shaking his head, but when Bilbo glowered at him, Bombur reluctantly handed the phone over. 

It was one of those social media programs that Bilbo had never particularly bothered to figure out, a cheerful blue interface with the logo of a small bird… Twitter, was it? He frowned at the screen, which was a scroll of little messages and icons. The one at the top caught his eye. 

—

 **Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 10m  
Dinner at @theSilverSpoon: as trite and as uninspired as expected. Menu was bland. Chef Baggins rests heavily on old laurels.

—

“ _What_ ,” Bilbo said slowly, “Old _laurels_? Trite _and_ uninspired?”

“Like Hamfast said, he’s just an ass,” Bofur tried and failed to grab Bombur’s phone back from Bilbo. “Look, uh, he’s just some cranky guy, all right? Can’t please anyone.”

“‘Some guy’ with half a million followers,” Hamfast murmured, and held up his palms quickly when Bombur prodded him. “Sorry! Sorry!” 

“Half a million people have _seen_ this?” Bilbo demanded. “That’s… that’s slander!”

“Not really… and here… would you just-“ Bofur managed to swipe the phone, passing it back to a wary-looking Bombur. “Look. Just get some sleep, all right? It’s been a long day. And uh. It’s just some guy.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if I could’ve cooked what I wanted!” 

“Maybe so, but what’s done is done, Bilbo,” Bofur said, resignedly.

“Maybe if I… send this Thorin person a message on this social media thing-“

“-twitter-“ Hamfast helpfully supplied, but ducked his head again at Bilbo’s glare.

“-on _twitter_ and told him to come back, and cooked what I wanted to cook-“

“Lobelia would just force you to cook the usual menu again. Come on, Bilbo. You’ve known her for _years_. She’s your _cousin_. What do you think?”

True. Bilbo rubbed a palm over his face again, and groaned. “You’re right,” he said finally. “He’s just one person.”

“That’s right,” Bofur said encouragingly, and looked to Bombur pointedly for support.

“Just one asshole,” Bombur agreed, with another glance at his phone. “Wow.”

“What? What _now_?”

“Looks like that tweet just got retweeted five hundred times.” 

“What?” Bilbo echoed blankly. “What is a ‘retweet’?”

“Uh, it’s when people like a tweet,” Hamfast mumbled, “And kinda choose to post it again on their own timelines, for everyone else to see.”

“Five _hundred_ people? In ten _minutes_?” Bilbo asked, shocked. “Food critics are that popular?”

“Well uh. Mister Durin isn’t just a food critic. He’s the CEO of Erebor Inc, you know, the mining firm?” Hamfast wilted under Bilbo’s stare. “He’s a billionaire. But he’s also uh, kinda terminally irascible, which is kinda, uh, you see, very popular on twitter and such.”

“So he’s a rich man who thinks that being rich and powerful gives him the right to say whatever he wants?” Bilbo fished out his own phone from his shirt pocket. “Bofur. Come here. Install the twitter on my phone.”

“It’s just ‘twitter’, not ‘the twitter’, and,” Bofur hesitated. “Why?”

“Because if someone’s badmouthing me in public I want to know about it.” 

It took Bofur a few minutes to install the app and set up a new account, and then explain to Bilbo what each function was and how to tweet. Bilbo puzzled it over for a moment more, then pressed the ‘reply’ arrow to Thorin’s tweet.

“Uh, chef,” Bofur said cautiously. “Maybe you want to go home and sleep on it before, uh, what are you typing and-“

Bilbo pressed _Done_ , and shoved his phone back into his shirt pocket. “ _Now_ I’m going home,” he said, and stalked off. He was due a nice cup of tea, and a good book, and billionaire amateur food critics _and_ recalcitrant restaurant owners could all now go and hang themselves, as far as he was concerned.

II.

Behind him, Bombur checked his phone again, and the grimace that grew on his face prompted Bofur to peek at the screen.

—

 **Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 1m  
@oakenshield wouldn’t know good food if it bit him on his overprivileged arse.

—

“Ah, fuck,” Bofur sighed.

“ _You_ installed it on _his_ phone,” Bombur said accusingly. 

“That’s like giving the nuclear codes to a six year old child with button pressing issues,” Hamfast agreed. 

“Oh? And _who exactly_ poured oil onto the flames before fanning the hell out of it?” Bofur demanded, even as another tweet scrolled onto the timeline. 

—

 **Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 1m  
Impress me then. RT @chefbilbo: @oakenshield wouldn’t know good food if it bit him on his overprivileged arse.

—

Bofur took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Oh well,” Bombur said philosophically. 

“Did you explain to Bilbo what ‘RT’ was?” Hamfast asked nervously. “Because this is kinda, uh, escalating _really quickly_. Maybe you should call him right now-“

“He’s not picking up,” Bofur said, having already tried to call Bilbo while Hamfast was talking. “I’ve left a message and I’ve tried to text him.”

“We’ve got another one,” Bombur said, even as he started to grin at the screen. “Who would’ve known? The chef’s a natural in a flame war.” 

Bofur rubbed his eyes. “Oh god.” 

—

 **Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 1m  
@oakenshield should I provide you with a golden tub of caviar deep enough to drown in? Trust that would suit your taste more than real food.

—

“Try calling him again,” Hamfast said worriedly.

“I’m _trying_!”

“Well, ring his home in a bit,” Hamfast added, with an uneasy glance at the door to the restaurant. “Because once Lobelia gets wind of all this…”

—

 **Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 1m  
@chefbilbo If that’s the extent of your culinary imagination I can’t say that I’m surprised. 

—

“Oh, bu-urn,” Hamfast whistled, then ducked his head guiltily at a glare from Bofur. “Hey. _You_ installed the app.”

“I’m the sous chef!” Bofur threw up his hands. “I assist the head chef! How was I to know that he would promptly declare Twitter War II, eh?” 

“His ma used to be in the special forces, I heard,” Bombur said sagely. “It’s probably in his blood.”

“That makes _no_ sense whatsoever,” Bofur growled, even as he logged into twitter on his own phone, and followed Bilbo’s new account, just in time to see another message pop up. “Oh God. For the love of everything, Bilbo.”

—

 **Bilbo Baggins** @chefbilbo 1m  
@oakenshield try me, asshole. 1 Bag End Place, tomorrow, 6pm. Don’t be late. If you can manage that.

—

“Did he just post his home address on twitter?” Bombur asked out aloud, with the hushed tone of a man watching a train wreck in slow motion.

“Lobelia is going to be _so_ pissed,” Bofur said gloomily. “Might even blame me too, come to think of it.”

“Well,” Hamfast said hopefully, “Maybe Thorin will think that Bilbo’s planning his murder and won’t show up. Because I’m not entirely certain that Bilbo _won’t_ murder him. With chef knives. And turn him into a meat pie.” At Bofur’s horrified stare, Hamfast added defensively, “I saw that in a movie once.”

—

 **Thorin Durin** @oakenshield 1m  
@chefbilbo Fine. I don’t expect to be inspired.

—

“Ah hell,” Bofur sighed. “Hamfast, maybe you’re right,” he continued, just as Lobelia burst into the kitchen, her lips curled into a snarl.

“ _Where’s Bilbo?_ ”

III.

Thorin was fifteen minutes late and counting. “-no, I haven’t killed him,” Bilbo said, phone pinned between shoulder and cheek as he tasted the soup. “The bloody bastard chickened out, that’s all.”

“Lobelia’s still hopping mad,” Bofur said, over the phone, sounding doubtful, “But I think if you call her, or come over and apologize, she’ll calm down some and change her mind.”

“Bombur’s doing fine, isn’t he?” Bilbo asked, his tone edged. “Just keep going with normal service. This is personal.”

“I think that’s what she’s afraid of. Not just her. Us, too.”

“I don’t care. And I’ll do _fine_. Now get back to work, chef,” Bilbo said, more gently. “I promise I won’t stab him with the steak knife or sprinkle arsenic over his amuse-bouche or whatever you’re afraid of.”

“What about stabbing him with your chef knife?” Bofur asked, though there was a grin in his voice. “Well, um. Good luck.” 

Bilbo was midway typing a snide tweet on his phone when a loud rapping on his door nearly made him drop his phone in shock. He threaded his way past the living room to the door, undoing the security chain and opening the door with a scowl.

“You’re late,” he began sharply, just as the rest of his retort died unsaid. Standing on his doorstep was a tall man, broad-shouldered and stunningly handsome, with thick black hair to his shoulders, a trimmed beard, and expressive eyes under a heavily furrowed brow. Thorin was dressed in a navy coat over a sharply cut coal suit, his shirt collar pressed to knife edges against his throat. 

“Your place is in the middle of a bloody maze,” the man retorted. “Well? Are you going to let me in?”

Bilbo’s temper flared, saving him from further embarrassment. “Thorin Durin?” 

“Why, who were you expecting? The fucking Queen?” 

“This is going to be such a _lovely_ dinner,” Bilbo drawled, though he stepped aside and let Thorin into his modest house. Thorin swept the house with a steely glance, then followed him to the kitchen, where a single place setting had been set up at the table, within view of the stone benchtop. 

“As long as it actually _is_ a _good_ dinner,” Thorin retorted, as he draped his suit and coat over the back of his chair.

“Well,” Bilbo snapped back, “It _will_ be a _bloody good_ dinner. Whether you can actually _appreciate_ it will be something else altogether. Here,” he added grumpily, as he took a small platter of the amuse-bouche and set it in front of Thorin, along with a glass of water. “Croquette, crispy chicken skin with Indian spices, homemade chips and hummus. Amuse-bouche.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes, picking up one of the small croquettes and, after a moment’s hesitation where Bilbo added irritably, “I didn’t salt it with rat poison, if that’s what you’re thinking,” popped it into his mouth. His eyebrows rose.

Deciding that he couldn’t quite care less whether Thorin really did like his dinner or not, Bilbo turned back to his pans, sautéing diced onions and capsicum with olive oil and butter. The mushroom soup was ready just as Thorin was finished with the amuse-bouche, and although Thorin was silent as Bilbo presented the soup with sprigs of dill and dabs of candied walnut on the foamed surface, his lip curled, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. 

_Well, fuck you too,_ Bilbo thought, as he said crisply, “Mushroom soup. Another amuse-bouche.” _You and your too-handsome face. Some people have all the luck._

Thorin was still unnervingly quiet during the appetiser, a rosemary smoked organic egg, still in the shell, presented in one of his mum’s old egg cups, accompanied by garden peas, fairy rings and bellota. Bilbo had been quite proud of this one when he had thought of it, and it was a little irritating - and depressing - to see Thorin frown to himself as he scooped his first teaspoon of the smoked egg out of the shell.

Maybe Bilbo _was_ losing his touch. He tossed the drained pasta into the pan, until it was thoroughly coated with garlic oil and pepper flakes, then tossed it in parsley and parmesan and did a taste. Simple, but his absolute favourite at present to make at home. Bilbo curled the pasta deftly on a plate, with a pair of chopsticks, then presented it with a garnish of more parmesan.

 _Too simple?_ Bilbo worried for a moment, as Thorin glanced at the spaghetti in mild surprise. He had made the pasta by hand just before, and… that was definitely a strangled groan, from _Thorin_ , at the first forkful of pasta, eyes closed, cheeks growing a little flushed, and. Well. That was good for the ego. And other bits. 

Trying not to blush, but probably failing, Bilbo busied himself clearing used plates and prepping for desert. The tension that had choked the air when Thorin had first sat down seemed to have ebbed, and now Bilbo was a little more than uncomfortably aware of how small - ‘cosy’, he would have put it - his home was, compared to wherever Thorin probably lived, at how rather… _unprofessional_ his temper tantrum had been, at how… _silly_ it had all turned out. 

Swallowing a sigh, Bilbo quenelled a scoop of cucumber ice cream, dusting it with desiccated herbs, pushing it to Thorin when Thorin had finished chasing the dregs of the pasta sauce on his plate with his spoon. “Palate cleanser,” Bilbo said, a little numbly, and this time, Thorin frowned at him. Startled, Bilbo blinked, but Thorin had already started to eat, cautiously at first, then with more gusto as he got used to the unusual but refreshing flavour, and Bilbo carefully stacked the plates in the sink, then started to quenelle a scoop of his home-made dark chocolate ice cream. 

“Five textures of chocolate,” Bilbo said at last, setting the bowl on the table, then added, out of habit, “Coffee or tea?”

“That’s all right,” Thorin said neutrally, pulling the bowl over to himself, and Bilbo sat down at the table to watch, folding his arms over the antique wood. Thorin had a curiously methodical way of eating, it seemed: first he tried a little of everything, then he ate from right to left, bit by bit, and it was rather… cute, in a way. 

If Thorin could be said to be cute. 

Now that ‘service’ was over, Bilbo found that he didn’t regret it after all. He’d done his best, for good or for ill, and he had cooked what he loved. Even the resentment and anger he had felt over Thorin’s snide comments had faded, between one course and the next. 

Finally, Thorin pushed the bowl aside, and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Why didn’t you serve all this yesterday?” he asked, his tone still neutral.

“The owner decided the menu yesterday.” Bilbo shrugged, then he added sharply, “But what I _did_ serve yesterday was _still_ good.”

“It wasn’t like this,” Thorin shrugged. “Tell the owner to serve this instead.”

“So it was good?” 

Thorin’s mouth quirked up into a wry and utterly enchanting smile: it softened the severity of his jaw, somehow making him even _more_ handsome. “I concede, chef. I’ve eaten at establishments all over the world. This was still an… unexpected journey, and one that was most welcome.”

“Um,” Bilbo tried not to blush again, though this time, it probably didn’t work. “Thanks.”

“And should you manage to change the menu at the Silver Spoon,” Thorin added, “I’ll be a far more frequent visitor.”

“Unfortunately,” Bilbo said, still a little dazed by the gracefulness of Thorin’s praise, “I’m not working there any longer. Had a little disagreement with the owner this morning,” he added, when Thorin frowned again.

“Over?”

“Over tonight, if you really must know. She wanted me to issue you a public apology and invite you back to the Silver Spoon, I refused, and things…”

“Escalated?” Thorin asked, a little dryly. 

“You could say that.”

“I’m sorry to have cost you your job-“

“Oh, it was coming anyway,” Bilbo cut in. “Don’t worry about it. Tonight was a pleasure.”

“It was a privilege. For me.” Thorin said, and looked a little thoughtful. “If you’re looking for employment...“

“I’m fine, thanks,” Bilbo said quickly. “I, ah, needed a break anyway.” 

“Then at least allow me to help you with the dishes.”

III.

Somehow, ‘helping with the dishes’ had turned into ‘breaking out a bottle of wine’, and then things had escalated. Again. Bilbo wasn’t even sure how it had started: the last he remembered, he was talking about something completely unrelated, and then Thorin had leaned over to kiss him, tentative and quick, and Bilbo’s self-control had lumbered downhill from there.

They had left a line of scattered clothes from the kitchen to the bedroom, hands hungry on each other, rough, Thorin’s coat in the living room and Bilbo’s socks in the doorway of his little study, trousers and shirts and everything else in between, until Thorin was pinning Bilbo to the bed, all breathless gasps between his kisses. “God,” Thorin was hissing, “You’re _perfect_ \- how can you look like this and still cook the way you do-“

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bilbo demanded suspiciously, but Thorin kissed him again, nipping on his lower lip this time, then sucking Bilbo’s tongue into his mouth when Bilbo moaned. Thorin kissed with a hunger that seemed to try to burn itself into Bilbo’s skin, a rough passion that had seemed entirely missing much of the night before save where it showed in Thorin’s temper, and God help him but Bilbo _loved_ it.

He was dazed by the time Thorin let up, mouth as kiss-swollen as Bilbo’s and smirking at whatever he saw on Bilbo’s face, kissing Bilbo’s brow when Bilbo started to frown; then tracing a jagged line with mouth and tongue down Bilbo’s body, panting as he went, as though tasting a feast rather than Bilbo’s admittedly… rounded form. Thorin made Bilbo giggle as he dabbed his tongue into Bilbo’s navel, then laugh as he nipped at Bilbo’s flank, groan as Thorin nosed his way lower, past Bilbo’s thickening cock, to lap one of Bilbo’s tightening balls into his mouth to suck lightly, oh _Christ_. 

At Bilbo’s strangled, “ _Jesus_ mother of God!” Thorin let out a low and muffled laugh, rubbing his beautiful, tapered fingers up Bilbo’s thighs, encouraging Bilbo to spread his legs wider. The bristle and rub of Thorin’s beard against Bilbo’s thighs felt divine, and the strangled moan that Thorin made as he licked up Bilbo’s cock to taste the tip was never going to let Bilbo look at Thorin and food the same way ever again.

Billionaire mining magnate or not, Thorin sucked cock like he did it every day of his life and _liked_ it, sure and thorough and absolutely unashamedly hungry for it, groaning _again_ when he took Bilbo’s cock down his tight and clenching throat and getting his hand greedily on the rest. With _that_ mouth stretched pink over his cock, Bilbo fought a losing battle with his self-control, stuffing his knuckles into his mouth to stifle his own cries, trying not to buck even as a large hand settled on his hip and squeezed teasingly, with just the hint of Thorin’s strength. God.

“Thorin, oh _God_ , Thorin… I… oh God, oh _God_ ,” Bilbo keened, ecstasy like a tide within him that swept away reason and shame alike, until he was screaming Thorin’s name, arched and pinned by Thorin’s strength, and Christ but Thorin was _swallowing_ , just as greedily as before, messily, muffling a moan of his own as he did so, hells, his hand dropping from Bilbo’s cock to between his own thighs, until Thorin let up with a gasp from softening flesh, his own eyes glazed with pleasure, his breaths quickening into a hitch, then slowing all at once. 

“Could’ve helped you with that,” Bilbo noted, when they were lying on his narrow bed, catching their breaths. The single bed was too cramped for this: Bilbo was pinned against the wall, Thorin’s arm tucked under him, his chin squashed a little awkwardly between Thorin’s shoulder and the pillow.

“Maybe the next time,” Thorin smiled at him, that wry and gorgeous little smile that lit up his eyes. “I’ll like you to work for me.”

“Hm,” Bilbo yawned. “No.” He laughed when Thorin tensed up, and continued, “You’re really cute and all, but I don’t think I want to work _for_ anyone for a while.” 

“I’ll double whatever you were earning in the Silver Spoon. And you’ll have creative control.”

“A restaurant?”

“Whatever it is that you want to open. I don’t care. I’ll supply the capital, premises, whatever’s needed.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bilbo said, just to see Thorin start to frown. “After you apologise on twitter.”

Thorin snorted. “I’ll mention that tonight’s dinner was incredible. _But_ I stand by my comments on the Silver Spoon.” 

“… All right. Then I’m not working for you.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“All’s fair,” Bilbo retorted, though he did lean up to brush a kiss against Thorin’s temple, “In love and war - especially where food is concerned. Let me think about it,” he relented and said, when Thorin seemed about to object again. “Come by tomorrow. Tea is at four.” 

“I’ll be here,” Thorin said, and pressed a kiss of his own over the edge of Bilbo’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> \--
> 
> aha lol. Thanks for reading! Needed to write something light and fluffy and silly after watching the third film.
> 
> Menu items from Restaurant Jaan in Singapore and from Vue de Monde Melbourne.


End file.
